


Step by Step

by Majestrix



Series: This Dance Called Life [1]
Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majestrix/pseuds/Majestrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the attack on humanity Lois, Clark, and the rest of the world attempt to move on with their lives as best they can. Lois has to face that events have not only changed the world but may have changed her as well, whereas Clark is simultaneously elated at the prospect of having a relationship with someone who knows exactly what he is, and the crushing guilt he experiences while doing his best to help put the world back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

One of the few things that’s been set up in the apartment is a bed and on it is a tangle of sheets and Lois Lane. She doesn’t bother to cover her partial nudity and Clark can’t find it in himself to complain as she stretches absently. He tries to keep his eyes on the laptop, but the lure of Lois, on her stomach with her ankles crossed, is almost too much temptation. “What do you think,” he asks of the article currently under her scrutiny. It’s the second article he’s going to turn into Perry, once Lois gives her stamp of approval. 

“I gotta say, you have a way with words,” she says as she rolls over, taking part of the sheet with her. Lois’ mouth turns down as she concentrates on reading the rest of the article, bouncing one leg on the other knee absentmindedly. Clark doesn’t feel obligated to tell her she’s not really covering anything, his exceptional senses be damned. She looks up and catches him staring. “What?” she asks, blushing slightly as she ducks her head and goes back to reading.

Clark busies himself with swallowing coffee to hide his smile. “Nothing, you’re just beautiful, that’s all.”

Lois laughs quietly and tries to hide behind her hair. “Stop it, you’ll give me a big head,” she says.

“I do mean it, though, Lois,” he says, suddenly desperate to let her know how he feels. Clark puts down the mug and tries not to redden or stumble through his words. “These past few days…” he trails off. “They’ve been the happiest of my life,” he says simply.

The familiarity they’ve bred between them seems both simultaneously dizzying and calming.

Lois’ smile turns shy and a little fond. “They have been pretty terrific,” she says. She looks like she wants to say something else, but she clears her throat instead and hefts Clark’s article. “It’s really good. You capture what feels and reads like a personal perspective with quiet dignity. I think people are going to need more of that right now,” she says. 

“Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Clark asks as he reaches for some coffee. Caffeine doesn’t actually keep him awake but the smell reminds him of mornings on the farm, with his mother and father at the breakfast table. Habits die hard when they bring so much comfort. 

“What’s ironic?” she asks.

“That an alien winds up telling the story of the everyday man,” he says.

Lois stretches, yawns and sits up to gather the papers in order. “Not at all,” she says. “I think it fits you.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” he says.

“Good.” Clark rises from his chair because Lois beckons with a curled finger. His apartment is tiny so it only takes so many strides to find himself at the edge of the bed. He leans over her and marvels again at how small and compact she is; even in heels he’s a good foot taller. Clark watches as her eyes dilate as he moves closer to kiss her gently. 

And it’s always gently; this thing between them is so new and fragile Clark doesn’t want to ruin things with the force of his longing. He eases her onto her back, taking care to slide the sheet away so they could connect again, skin to skin; the article falls to the floor, forgotten for now.

Lois holds him like she’s afraid he’s going somewhere; twines her arms around his neck, her fingers in his hair and her legs around his waist. Like she wants all of him, all the time, and Clark would like nothing more than to give everything to her, but he’s so painfully aware of her delicacy. He kisses the spot behind her ear where the smell of her perfume still lingers; it’s the soft smell of vanilla and her own scent that drives him wild. 

Clark noses along Lois’ pulse point and pauses; he can hear screaming and he’s already started shifting gears. “I’ve gotta go,” he says.

Lois groans as she drops her grip on him. “Be careful,” she says, with an almost imperceptible tremor. She kisses him again and Clark is barely aware; he’s honing in on the circumstances and what needs to be done. With a burst of speed he’s in his suit and out the open window.

Lois pulls the sheet around her and pushes her hair back with a sigh; it’s a few seconds later that she hears the telltale sonic boom. She falls back onto the bed and groans aloud. “What are you doing?” she asks herself. No answer comes, of course, so she turns over and inhales the scent left on his pillow. Her body is tired and so is her brain, but sleep doesn’t come.


	2. Exploits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lois begins to wonder if her feelings for Clark are getting in the way of doing her job. Clark's nightmares cycle back and forth between three horrible scenarios and Perry tries to do what's best for his staff.

Lois can’t help but stare at the scene visible through Perry’s office windows. The bullpen has floor to ceiling windows but there are so many people moving around you’re only afforded bits and snatches of the devastation. Perry’s office offers an unfettered view that takes Lois’ breath away and makes the scar on her stomach throb dully. 

“They’re complaining that you’re not using your connections for the best of the newspaper,” Perry says, and Lois gives him her best blank look. 

“What does that even mean?” she scoffs. “What do they want from me?” 

“They want to hear _his_ side of the story,” he says. “Thanks to Woodburn everyone knows you know who he is; they want to know why you can’t get him to sit down to an interview.”

“I could,” she retorts. “But I won’t.” Lois grimaces as she presses her hand against her side.

“Something wrong, Lane?” Perry asks. It’s a credit to their years of working together that she can tell his irritation is out of concern rather than lack of patience. 

“Nothing, I’m fine. I’m not going to exploit him, not after what he’s done. Not after everything he’s been through.” Lois breathes through the flare of pain and is proud she doesn’t double over, even if it’s a near thing. 

“Glad I told the board to go to hell, then.” 

Lois’ eyes widen. “You said that?” The smile comes involuntarily as she imagines her editor effectively telling off _his_ bosses. She honestly can’t say she’s surprised when she thinks about it.

“I may have been a little more polite than that, maybe not. They owed me.” Perry sat forward. “But there is something that’s letting me know you’re off your game. Something you wouldn’t do in a million years,” he says gently.

“And what is that?” Lois asks.

“You’re letting others tell _your story_ ,” Perry says as he tosses a copy of _Newstime_ onto her lap and if Lois could spit fire the magazine would’ve fried into nothingness. There was a picture of Metropolis, smoking and in ruins, with the boldface type _SHOULD WE TRUST HIM?_

“I didn’t know about this,” Lois says a she flips to the article. She has friends at Newstime; they should’ve warned her before this went to print. She crumples the issue in her hands as best she can while the nausea returns full force. 

“Since the attack people have been clamoring for some sort of idea of Superman’s character. Something to latch onto beyond the hundreds of thousands dead and billions of dollars’ worth of damage that we wake up to every day.” Perry regards her carefully. “Lois. Lois,” he barks. 

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Lois hears herself saying. The room is spinning slightly and suddenly all she wants to do is curl up at her desk and sleep a week. 

“I don’t expect you to exploit Superman, Lois. I know you won’t and if I thought you could you wouldn’t be working for me. What you need to do is tell his story. Tell it before everyone else does. Do you think you could get him to come in for an on-air interview?”

 _Fat chance_ , Lois thinks. “Doubtful.”

“I don’t have to tell you how precarious his position is, Lois,” Perry says. “The world needs to get to know Superman without this bullshit.” The disdain drips from his he says as he gestures toward Newstime in her lap. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Lois rises with the day already weighing heavily on her body. She goes back to her desk and works through lunch; she’s trying to contact every source in her vast web of contacts she can, to make sure they’re okay. Too many are unreachable but she doesn’t stop until the light in the room has shifted from yellow to gold. 

“Lois, you look like shit.”

Lois glares up at Steve and rolls her eyes. “Gee, thanks,” she says dryly. “Just what I was going for when I rolled out of bed; I said, what would best help me look like shit.” 

Steve laughs as he leans on the partition to her cubicle. “Plans tonight?” he asks lightly. 

“No,” Lois says as she glances at her watch; it’s close to seven. Bed is calling.

“Rusty’s is open again if you want to grab a cold one, my treat.” 

As much as it sounds tempting, soaking in the tub sounds more her speed at the moment. “I can’t,” Lois says, the regret showing on her face. “But I’m glad to hear Rusty’s back in business.”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Steve looks uncomfortable for a second. “Are you going to see _him_?” he asks lowly.

Lois almost drops the pen she’s chewing on. “What?” she asks, the taste of plastic on her tongue.

Steve has his best _I’m not stupid_ expression in place. “Come on, Lane; I saw you. Jenny saw you; hell, _Perry_ saw you.”

“Oi,” Lois says, feeling embarrassment heat her cheeks. _If Perry saw why didn’t he say anything_ , she wonders.

Steve shrugs. “A lot of shit was going on; by the time we made it down to where you were he was long gone and honestly… Honestly I was just glad to know you were alive and safe.”

Lois looks up at Steve and can’t help but smile; as much as he likes to hit on her or ask her out he’s still one of the few genuine friends she can depend on. The fact that he’s standing in front of her, unhurt after everything that happened to Metropolis makes her get out of her chair and throw her arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers against his neck, trying to avoid crying in the bullpen. “I should’ve said that before; I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Steve hugs her back, but as the embrace lingers he laughs nervously. “Probably because you’re a little bit of an asshole,” he jokes. “Lane, you’re freaking me out; are you sure you’re alright?” he asks as she finally pulls away. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Lois says as she tries to subtly wipe away the tears in her eyes. Rushes of emotion were embarrassing, she hears in the voice of her father. She sniffs again and straightens her face. 

“Maybe you’ve been working too hard.” Steve steps closer. “Does he treat you right?”

 _Better than I treat myself, sometimes_ , she thinks. “We’re not having this conversation,” Lois says; it feels so personal the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. 

“He better,” Steve says. 

“Or what, you’ll beat him up for me?” Lois asks, and she realizes it sounds a little nastier than she anticipated. “I’m sorry, Steve,” she says. 

Steve shakes his head and waves her off. “Save it,” he says. “None of my business.” He shoves off of her desk and wanders back to his own, and it makes Lois want to groan and pitch a fit. She hurt Steve’s feelings, she knows, but _he_ should also know her enough by know that she doesn’t talk about her private life. 

Ever.

Well, except for that one time her and her date’s pictures were splashed all over the tabloids, but she hadn’t known that the paparazzi was following them. In retrospect Lois realizes she should’ve expected it, dating a sheik. She clears her throat at the thought and it catches Jenny’s attention as she comes to drop off a few documents at Lois’ desk. 

“Going home?” Jenny asks as she pushes the cart out of the way so Lois could maneuver around her.

“Yes, finally. “If Perry is looking for me…” Lois finishes her sentence with vague gestures. 

“You’re gone; got it. Have a good night, Lois.”

Lois throws a wave over her shoulder and joins the latest round of tired journalists waiting at the elevator bay. The car causes everyone to pack in as close as possible before everyone pours out into the lobby. Right outside foot traffic slows due to debris and construction and even in the midst of all the crazy the buzz of idle conversation and she can hear laughter off in the distance.. 

The city is healing. 

Lois smiles and starts for the row of taxis idling on the street when people start gasping and pointing in the air. “It’s him! It’s Superman!” someone cries out. She shields her eyes to watch his descent in the short distance and can’t help the grin on her face; even though he can’t stop it’s nice to see him. The now familiar red and blue give her an unexpected jolt of energy and a spring in her step. 

If he can keep going, god knows what he’s doing, Lois can keep going. Maybe she even had enough energy to stop by the grocery store. As she walks towards the road cabs idling at the curb Lois realizes that the run is probably more of a necessity than a luxury since she’s returning to her apartment. During the best of times her refrigerator maybe held a takeout salad and a bottle of wine.

And if she wanted (hoped) Clark to stop by, then maybe Lois could do a little better. She sinks into the backseat of the first cab in the row and tries not to smile to herself at the thought of Clark in her apartment, on her couch, in her bed… “He’s going to be the death of me,” she murmurs.

“What was that, ma’am?” the cabbie asks.

“Oh, nothing; sorry.” Lois gives him the address to the corner store instead of her building.

***

Lois doesn’t profess to be the best cook in the world, but growing up the way she did caused her to learn how to make what she liked. The small cart is full of things for super cheesy vegetable lasagna before Lois even wonders if Clark _likes_ lasagna.

She could ask, but where’s the sexy fun in that? Lois pulls out her phone and thumbs through her contacts before she settles on the name Kent, Martha. She grasps the handle of the cart tightly; should she feel dizzy before calling someone’s mother?

If Lois was honest, and she really couldn’t afford to start lying to _herself_ now of all times, she could admit that Martha Kent intimidated her. Lois has interviewed various presidents, reining kings around the world and mega moguls who consider themselves kings and she hadn’t batted an eye. 

The woman who had helped shape the man she was in love with?

Fucking terrified. 

“Man up, Lane,” she mutters to herself as she pushes the button to start the call. It rings a few times and the wild beating in Lois’ chest begins to calm; maybe she’s not there. Maybe she’s still dealing with the repairs to the Kent home. At that thought Lois begins to feel badly; here she’s calling for something as stupid as –

“ _Hello_?”

Lois almost chokes on her own spit. “Hi,” she squeaks, and clears her throat to recover _some_ semblance of bass in her voice. “I mean, hello, Mrs. Kent. This is Lois.”

“ _Lois, so good to hear from you! But I told you to call me Martha_ ,” she says. “ _Is everything alright_?”

Lois nods at a stack of parmesan wheels and realizes she must be more tired than she realized. “Yes,” she says. “I just had a question, but now I feel silly for calling.”

“ _Is it about Clark_?” The amusement in Martha’s voice makes Lois want to curl up and die of embarrassment. 

“Yes.”

“ _I’ll answer as best as I can, as long as I feel comfortable_ ,” Martha says. 

Lois’ face turns bright red. “Oh no, I wouldn’t call you to ask you anything like that,” she sputters. “That would be-”

“ _Embarrassing? Horrifying?_ ”

“All of the above,” Lois murmurs. “You know, it’s okay, I know you’re probably busy-”  
“ _Lois, I’m just messing with you_.” Martha’s laugh was cut off by a slight cough. “ _What do you want to know_?”

Lois grills Martha on Clark’s dietary needs and preferences and by the time the conversation is over Lois feels like she’s got a greater understanding of the man in her life. The thought makes her smile as she starts back down the aisles to get double of everything she’s already purchased. Martha warned her that his appetite could be mind boggling when he doesn’t take care of himself. Lois hasn’t seen him for the past two days and on the news he’s been everywhere; he probably hasn’t taken a break since.

“I need some alcohol,” Lois murmurs to herself. Can Clark get drunk? That’s a question she never thought to ask him. So engrossed in her internal musings, Lois doesn’t notice the woman until she’s already turned down the aisle. 

“Ms. Lane, could we have a moment of your time, please?” A woman in a black skirt suit is standing in the middle of the aisle, in front of the zinfandel. Her face looks friendly with wide, almond shaped eyes and a generous mouth curling into a nonthreatening smile, but the effect is ruined by the severity of her asymmetrical bob and ramrod straight posture; Lois’ brain screams this woman expects a fight. 

The previous good mood she was experiencing evaporated between heartbeats as she looks around. “Who is _we_ , exactly,” Lois asks. 

The woman merely smiles wider. “Maybe we could go somewhere with a bit more privacy?”

Lois shakes her head as she backs away. There aren’t many people in the small store, but her actions caught the eye of a stock boy; he’s watching her instead of refilling the milk. Unless this woman was with the military or local law enforcement she wouldn’t risk snatching her with a witness. “I'm sorry, but I'm not going anywhere with you. If you would like to talk to me then you can make appointment to talk to me at The Daily Planet.” She backs out of the aisle and tries not to run to the check out. 

Lois is the picture of nonchalance but inside her heart is beating wildly; she doesn’t know who that woman represents, but she thought the days of random kidnapping were over. General Swanwick promised Clark that the military wouldn’t just pop by and decide she needed to take an unexpected and involuntary trip. She lets out a wobbly breath and swipes her bank card with a shaky hand. When she leaves the store she’s busying scanning the street for nondescript, dark sedans and black jumpsuits.

By the time she gets to her apartment door the fear has lapsed into irritation as she slams the door shut with her boot. Swearing at the world in general she puts away her meager groceries and rages at… rages at… nothing she can actually articulate. The wind goes out of her anger then and Lois feels more tired than before. 

She tries not to acknowledge the dull throb in her side but her hand finds the scar on her abdomen and Lois is momentarily breathless with pain before irritation again wins out. There is no reason why her stomach should be hurting. As soon as she was found in the snow the military medic gave her a thorough examination and confirmed what Clark had told her in the ship; if he had not acted when he did and in the manner in which he did, she would have bled out long before anyone found her body.

There is minimal scarring with no compromise of gastrointestinal activity. She was told that it would be sore and may even itch for a while but eventually the only holdover from the experience would be the slightly jagged scar on her stomach.

So why was it becoming painful again?

"Because it's all in your head, Lane," she says into the air as she kicks off her shoes.

"Are you talking to yourself?"

Lois whirls around to find Clark in her dining room, and full Superman gear. She didn't even realize she had left her balcony door unlocked. "Clark," she exclaims. "So what if I am," Lois asks playfully with her hands on her hips.

"I think this is something that I should know now, rather than find out later," Clark jokes.

"Your parents never told you that talking to yourself is a sign of intelligence?"

"I think your parents just told you that so you wouldn't feel strange."

Lois laughs as she comes over to give him a hug but stops short. "Oh goodness," she says as she slaps his bicep playfully. A fine coating of dust billows into the air.

Clark's expression practically drips chagrin. "Sorry; I’ve been moving almost nonstop. A quick spin and I can get rid of the dirt." In a flash he’s gone and between one breath and the next he’s returned, his suit brighter and particulate free. 

Lois reaches out and traces what she now knows is the family crest on Clark's suit. "Do you think this would shrink in the wash?" She asks.

Clark regards his suit thoughtfully. "Of all of the questions that I had, unfortunately, that was not one of them. I think I'll stick to hand washing."

"That's probably smart," Lois says. "But now that you’ve taken care of your suit maybe you can spare some time to take care of your skin. Unfortunately the only soap I have is Tahitian Sunrise, which doesn’t smell anything like the real thing."

"There are worse things in the world," he says, and Lois can see Clark's mind diving toward the things he's seen while helping out as much as he can.

"So, nothing pressing at the moment?”

Clark tilts his head, listening. “No, not at the moment.”

"Good," she says as she pulls off her sweater vest and begins to unbutton her blouse.

Clark is bewildered." What are you doing?" he asks and even though he has seen Lois naked and has held her in his arms, his cheeks flame as an emerald colored bra is bared.

"Don't you worry about that, Kansas," she jokes. "I've got just the thing for you." Lois steps out of her pants and snaps the waistband of her panties before she starts down the hall. When she realizes she’s not being followed she pauses. “Coming?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clark peels himself out of his suit as quickly as possible. 

*** 

“You’re going to get pruney.”

“I don’t care. Are you going to get pruney?” Lois asks as she continues to gently massage shampoo into Clark’s hair. 

“I don’t get pruney.”

“And that’s what makes you special.”

Clark laughs in spite of himself as Lois thoroughly rinses his hair. He’s leaning back against her leisurely as she works on removing a bit of debris from his curling hair. “No, I’m special because I can wiggle my ears.”

Lois pauses. “You can?” she asks incredulously. “Show me!”

Clark sits up and the water sloshes in the over-sized tub. He turns and wiggles his ears and tries not to laugh at the pure delight on Lois’ face. “Out of everything, _that_ impresses you?” he asks. 

“I have my standards, Kent,” she says smoothly. “Glad to know you make the cut.”

“Yes,” he says as he moves forward and kisses her gently. “Glad to know.” 

“Have you eaten?” Lois asks, her voice going a little breathless under Clark’s scrutiny. Suddenly his hands are on her hips and he’s pulling her through the water; she feels weightless as she begins to float toward him. 

“I could eat,” Clark rumbles. Lois blinks a few times as she turns red and he’s wondering if there’s cause for concern before an indelicate and snort-like laugh escapes Lois’ mouth before it swells into an gleeful cackle. 

She laughs so hard she falls under the water and comes back up sputtering, still laughing and clinging to Clark. He’s tense beneath her grasp but he loosens up when she removes some of the sting with giggle-filled kisses to his jaw. “I’m sorry, but that was so… so… ” she says after she catches her breath and blinks water out of her eyes.

Clark’s chuckle finally collapses into a self-deprecating laugh. “I know; I knew it as soon as I opened my mouth, I was just hoping you didn’t notice.”

Lois points at her face. “Journalist,” she reminds him. “You’ll learn nothing gets past me.”

Clark snorts and kisses Lois with intent to wipe the smirk from her face. The previously silly mood evaporates as the heat ripens between them. He picks her up and cradles her against him, half out of the water and half against the wall next to the tub. Lois winds her legs around his waist and tries to deepen the kiss. The cool tile against her back makes her arch against him, and she lets him swallow her moan deep. 

Water is sloshing everywhere and Clark doesn’t really care at the moment; it’s only been a few days since they’d properly seen each other, enjoyed each other’s presence. But every time it boils down to this _need_ , this feeling that touch isn’t enough.

He imagines this is what drowning feels like. 

Bracing on his knees, Clark kisses every inch of skin he can reach until Lois’ legs wrap around his head. He noses against the silk of her inner thighs and her staccato inhales are music to his ears as he uses his tongue to drive her over the edge. 

“Oh god,” Lois groans shakily. The tile is slick with condensation and the only thing she can hold onto is the towel rack above her head; it’s not meant to be wrenched back and forth like she’s doing but her body isn’t under her control anymore.

Clark’s hands feel large and hot on her posterior as he holds her in place. Her thighs tighten and shake as his tongue explores what feels like every inch of her core and when Lois’ orgasm crashes into her it’s a complete surprise.

The only thing Lois can hear is the sound of her own pulse in her ears and her legs are still shaking. When her vision settles she sees Clark is quite pleased with himself. _Well, he should be_ , she thinks. “I don’t think that’s fair,” she says when she can speak again. 

Clark practically preens as he lowers her back into the water. “I did tell you I would keep you on your toes, didn’t I, Miss Lane?” he teases. 

Lois’ grin turns wicked as she snakes her hand down the plane of his torso to his manhood and grips firmly. Clark’s hips stutter involuntarily and if it’s possible the flesh in her hand hardens even more. “Two can play that game,” she purrs against his ear. 

“Lois,” he warns, the strain evident in his voice. She callously pumps him gently. “Lois…”

“Clark,” she says in a low, sing-song voice. “I like having you in my hands; almost as much as I like you inside of me.”

Clark groan collapses into a rumble that makes Lois’ breath catch. He’s looking at her like he’s only steps away from just _taking_ what he wants, and deep down that thrills Lois on so many levels; she knows he would never take without asking, and that his control over himself is absolute. 

Well, almost. 

The water is splashing out of the tub in response to their movement but Lois doesn’t stop as she uses the lack of friction to maneuver Clark onto his back against the tub. Without breaking eye contact she rises out of the water and sits on his lap, trapping his cock between them. Lois undulates her hips and hisses as her clitoris rubs along his shaft.

Clark’s lips fall open under a heavy moan and his hands are at her waist like a tight band; he’s pressing her down against him to achieve more friction but the water is working more in _her_ favor than his. “Lois,” he says again, and her name sounds like a prayer when he says it like that.

The flame between them is growing again and Lois feels feverish and daring as she leans back and closes her eyes, trusting him to hold her. The whole world seems to have shrank to the hands on her hips and the fire growing from where their flesh is sliding against each other. She looks down at Clark and runs her hands down her own neck and shoulders, cupping her breasts briefly before she falls forward just slightly to brace against his chest. “You know what you want,” she says as she picks up the pace. Lois knows she could get off again from just this action and that knowledge tips her a little closer still. Clark’s expression is like gravity; makes her lean forward and cry out as the motion drags her hardened nipples against his marble chest. “Why don’t you just take it?”

The growl was the only warning she gets; Clark lifts her out of the water and lowers her down onto his member with an agonizingly deliberate glide. Lois shouts and shakes when he is fully inside of her; she wonders (and hopes) she never gets used to the feeling. She doesn’t trust her throat to let her speak; she’s too busy trying to swallow, and the look of utter adoration he gives her almost makes her come again. 

“Lois…” 

She can’t tell if Clark’s sweating or if it’s just water. Lois knows he’s asking if she’s alright and she’s more than alright and she’ll be peachy keen if _he’d just go ahead and move_. Lois shows him so by making the first move; she rises just a little and settles again and is gratified to see Clark’s eyes flutter shut as he bites at his own lips to keep silent. 

That just won’t do, Lois thinks as she repeats the move again. She wants a reaction out of him. She wants to _drag_ obscene and filthy sounds from his mouth because he can’t control himself anymore.

Because of her.

They rock together, slowly at first until they’re riding the waves of the bath water produced from their seismic movement. Clark’s hands find hers and she holds on for dear life as he loses control bit by bit and starts to thrust into her. His angle is impossible and perfect and Lois knows she’s sweating as she tries to stave off her second orgasm for a little longer. 

The world tilts and suddenly they are out of the water and against the wall; Lois clings to Clark and keens in his ear; he doesn’t stop his relentless driving rhythm and she can’t help but come. Lois shouts her climax gratefully, tightening around him as her orgasm lights every nerve inside of her on fire. He’s still moving inside of her, chasing his own conclusion. She can feel the scrape of his teeth against her neck and she wonders if he’ll leave a mark.

If he could be persuaded to do so.

Clark begins to chant her name as his cadence falters just slightly. She holds on and cries out with him as he comes, and they both slide down the wall a little before Clark regains his wits about him. “Did I hurt you?” he asks thickly. 

Lois can only shake her head. Her throat feels hoarse, which is strange because she doesn’t remember doing much screaming. He withdraws, both figuratively and literally and Lois crashes back to earth, sore and breathless. 

They get out of the tub and she realizes how little water is left in the tub and how much has made it onto her floor. “Well damn,” she says.

“I’m sorry-”

“What are you apologizing for?” Lois interrupts, with her hands on her hips. “Our mutual pleasure or the fact that I’ll have to throw some towels on the floor?”

Clark ducks his head and Lois wonders how a man that looks like him can be so _damn_ humble. “I’ll help you clean up.”

“Good.”

***

Lois tries not to stare as Clark devours a whole pan of lasagna like it’s nothing. It’s not that he’s uncouth, or that he puts his elbows on the table and treats the plate as a trough… It’s just the sheer size of his portions that almost make her forget her own plate.

Almost.

They eat in silence, and she’s thankful for the food and quiet. Lois wants to ask what he’s been doing with his days, but he might tell her and she doesn’t want to be the one responsible for putting that look in his eye. 

So instead she says, “The game’s on in a few minutes,” after checking the clock on the wall, and Clark lights up and speeds through the pile of asparagus on a separate plate. “I’ll take care of the dishes, why don’t you grab a beer and head into the living room?”

“I could help with dishes, Lois; the cook shouldn’t have to clean up.” Clark begins stacking the dishes and transferring them to the counter. 

“Smallville what do you think the dishwasher is for?”

Clark accepts the beers being thrust at his person and smiles gratefully; it’s been some time since he’s been able to sit down and just enjoy the game, and with the world relatively quiet he can’t think of anywhere he would rather be.

He sits down on the couch and realizes not only is he sitting on the remote, but he’s sitting on Lois’ jacket, too. Clark grabs for both and knocks a magazine on the floor. Turning on the game, he reaches for the magazine and turns it over. 

On the front is the Metropolis skyline, large chunks of it missing in smoking ruin. Clark’s mouth runs dry at he looks at it; he’s been seeing it for the past two weeks but it somehow looks worse in a flat, two dimensional picture. 

A shadow falls over the cover. “I didn’t want you to see that,” Lois says.

“Why not?” he asks. Clark sees places where he remembers being knocked through buildings, other structures he had slammed Zod into; he wonders what other people see when they look. 

He sees so much destruction. 

“Because you’re going to start blaming yourself, again.” Lois tries to tug the magazine out of his hands but he won’t let it go; he only just sees the headline. _SHOULD WE TRUST HIM?_ “Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” she says.

Clark doesn’t know how to stop the plummet of his heart into his stomach. He puts the magazine down onto her coffee table and tries to ignore it, but he can’t. “What are people saying?” he asks. It’s been something that’s been bothering him, but he was too much of a coward to ask. 

Lois droops around the tumbler of scotch in her hands, feet tucked under her as she sits next to him on the couch. “I don’t know,” she admits. Clark’s sure his disbelief shows on his face when she huffs and takes a large swallow. “I’ve been hands off,” she admits. 

“Why?” he asks. 

Lois shrugs. “I worry I’m a little too close to the story,” she says, and finishes the rest of her drink. “Perry says it’s not like me. I’m letting someone else tell the story.”

“So tell it,” Clark says. She looks at him as if he’s crazy. “Well, I can’t tell it,” he says as he gestures at the magazine. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Lois looks away. “Most of my inbox consists of my colleagues asking for something, _anything_ about you. The other messages are from news stations who want to interview me about you or asking if I know how to reach you so they can ask you instead.” She finishes the last of her drink and stares at the empty glass regretfully. “I may be too sober for this conversation,” Lois warns. 

“You’re fine. What do you think?” Clark asks. “Do you think you’re letting someone else tell our story?”

“Is it our story, Clark?” Lois asks. “I mean, this is your life,” she says. Clark tugs on the fraying edge of her shorts until she turns to look at him. 

“What would you do, Lois?” he asks. “What would you do if I were someone else? If I was just a story?” Clark watches Lois as emotions chase themselves across her face. The fine red hairs at her temples are still damp and curling and her pony tail is sticking to her neck and dripping drops of water onto her camisole, turning it darker blue. He wants to kiss her again; he wants to live his life within four quiet walls with her, for the rest of his life. 

“I can’t think of you as just a story, Clark; I’m sorry,” Lois says after a moment. “I know you can take care of yourself; hell, the whole world saw that. I still can’t help but feel protective. Now I know why your mother glared at me when I came to her door. You’re a revelation and you just don’t treat something or someone like that carelessly.” 

He gathers her into his arms; they slot together easily and Clark rests his cheek on the top of her hair. “I think we could do this. I think _you_ could do this. I don’t want someone making up things about me. I would rather control the information about me as best as one can in this day and age. 

“I had a journalism professor tell me that the only way the world was going to change was if the people started writing history rather than the victors. Instead of those who are speaking the loudest, give people unbiased fact and let them be the ones to make up their minds.”

Lois shudders. “People are stupid,” she says into the planes of Clark’s chest. She trails her hands over his abs and chest and comes up to cup his cheek. “Superman can give me an interview. Nothing on camera though. I don’t want people running recognition software or something other bullshit. I don’t want them finding _you_.”

Clark tightens his grip around her and kisses her quickly. “I’m sure Perry would love to have it tomorrow.”

Lois scoffs and sputters when she realizes Clark’s expression hasn’t changed. “You’re serious?” she asks. "But the game..."

“No time like the present,” he says. “Besides, if we do it later you’ll put it off and I’ll psych myself out and we’ll see more of that.” Clark gestures at the Newstime. 

Lois withdraws almost petulantly and stalks down the hall toward her bedroom and Clark worries that he’s broken something or did something wrong but she returns with a notebook and a pen, along with a resigned expression. “Are you sure about this,” she asks.

Clark nods. He wants everyone to understand he’s here to help. That not everyone from Krypton was like Zod. 

Lois’ smile is small but it’s there as she sits on the couch away from him. Her expression flattens into professional interest and Clark shivers slightly; it’s no wonder why people end up telling Lois Lane their secrets. 

“Alright, Superman,” she says crisply. “Let’s begin.”


End file.
